


the weight of your hands could carry the stars

by Rose_coloured_visions



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I tried my best, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, not even a 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_coloured_visions/pseuds/Rose_coloured_visions
Summary: Azirapahle recounts the many reasons why Crowley shouldn't enter the county fair after last year. Crowley is not pleased.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	the weight of your hands could carry the stars

“Hush my dear its perfectly alright” Aziraphale whispered to the shivering hydrangea “He didn’t mean it he’s just a small bit pent up about the baby’s breath not blooming before our neighbour’s its not your fault at all.”

This was how Aziraphale had spent his first sunny afternoon of the month, consoling his husbands shaken plants. He had a hard job of it too, the hydrangeas were still quivering and the unnaturally bright yellow tulips looked as if they’d never grow again. 

He smiled to himself, despite all of the shocked plants; this was the work of his dear Crowley. And while he could scream and shake his fist at his plants (He had done it exactly once, much to the passing children of the areas delight, and hasn’t done it since. Owing to never wanting to be called a 'crazy flower screaming nutter' again) Aziraphale knew that the demon who twirled his fingers lazily round his curls in bed, who called him angel in the most pleading, breathless way just before release would never truly mean for something to shrivel up into a miniscule ball and drown itself in a bucket of bleach no matter how many times he yelled it.

Aziraphale contemplated this to himself, smiling slightly, as Crowley wandered into the sitting room, he sat himself down right next to his angel and laid his head on the couch cushion. 

And he sighed.

A great, big ‘please ask me what I’m sighing so loudly about’ sigh.

So Aziraphale asked. 

While absentmindedly playing with the loose ripped threads over his knee.

Crowley, to his credit, managed to emit and even louder again sigh.

“They won’t let me in.” He spoke with soft resignment.

“Won’t let you in where my dear” Aziraphale said while now moving his fingers to fiddling with ornate gold bands decorating Crowley’s left hand.

“The county show” he uttered with more resentment in his voice that depression.

Aziraphale snorted very slightly to himself “Oh well honestly Crowley after last year’s debacle how could you ever expect them to allow you to enter” he said now twisting his fingers with Crowley’s and stroking his thumb. 

“I know angel but I would have thought they’d forgotten by now it was only a small thing really, who knew pensioners could hold such a grudge.” He muttered more to himself than Aziraphale “Honestly they can’t recall what they ate for breakfast this morning but a little fire that happened a year ago is still fresh in their minds.” He said with little malice but with lots of menace.

“It did catch onto two other tents though my dear” Aziraphale replied biting his lip.

“Mhm hmm”.

“And then the livestock escaped. They were cleaning sheep dung out of the church for weeks I think.” He added thoughtfully.

“Oh and didn’t two donkeys make their way into the antiques shop and swish a few vases to the ground with their tails if I remember correctly.” He said as if just recalling.

“I’m beginning to think you’re enjoying recounting my unfortunate third place placement at last year’s fair.” Crowley said. “And siding with the pensioners” he muttered under his breathe.

“All I’m saying Crowley is that you can’t expect people, even the elderly, he added, to easily forget the events of last year’s flower judging competition when the whole thing ended, and please excuse me if I’m too on the nose here, in flames. Aziraphale snickered slightly to himself avoiding crowley’s face with a small grin that wouldn’t stop growing.

“So you’re on their side” he said quietly.

“My dear I am on your side until the end of times” he replied ruefully, clasping Crowley’s hand “But I completely understand them not wanting another bull in a china shop incident.”

Crowley nodded solemnly seemingly understanding Aziraphale’s sentiment, but then his eyes lit up.

“I could send them in disguised with somebody else” he exclaimed. “I could recruit anathema to help. Present them to the judges and all they’d never know a thing.” Aziraphale could see the workings of a plan form behind Crowley’s eyes. Schemes and such were always something he enjoyed when they worked out in his favour.

“You will do no such thing Crowley” Aziraphale said with a slightly worried tone to his voice.” You will not drag poor anathema into your rivalry with next door’s hydrangeas.” He looked imploringly into crowley’s yellow eyes, uncovered by sunglasses as he was just with his angel.

Crowley looked right back into Aziraphale’s and saw what he was unwilling to admit out loud. ‘What would happen if you didn’t get the result you wanted again and this time decided to reintroduce the giant ground sloth to England as retribution?’

Crowley took this in and tried to focus on the weight of Aziraphale’s fingers wound around his own. The familiar feeling of holding hands in their own company. With no one around to see or consider what this might mean they just held hands in the sitting room of their south downs cottage. Letting the peaceful moment wash over them the settle in their hands. 

They looked at each other again, this time with Crowley nodding slightly and Aziraphale smiling a thankful smile.

And they sat there for what must have seemed like hours for anyone looking in, two solitary figures sitting beside each other on a worn couch surrounded by teeming bookshelves and leafy green plants. But to them the time went by too quickly, to fast to remember each line in their foreheads, each wrinkle on their knuckles each sweet whisper on their lips.

Good thing they had until the end of days.

It did however take hours for one of them to speak again, it was Crowley.

“Do you think they’d let me enter the pie competition instead?”

“Anthony J. Crowley don’t you dare!”


End file.
